Minds Alike
by kalani308
Summary: Set after the Reichenback Fall. Mrs. Hudson had rented out 221A to Jane Smith. She's smart, strong, and works for The Company. Jane matches Sherlock in intelligence but not in arrogance. Eventually, Sherlock and Jane will grow to love each other but not at all in the first few chapters. This is a realistic fic. Rated M for mature topics and smut in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

The knife slashed through her skin, leaving a burning trail of blood behind. She neither gasped, flinched, nor screamed. She was well accustomed to pain now. The Russian gang members walk out, leaving the woman alone in the darkness. She hadn't talked. She never would.

But they wanted answers. How much longer would they wait? Torture was nothing new to her. She'd been beaten to an inch of her life in Istanbul. In Iran, they had dripped acid down her bare back. She hadn't thought about Iran in a long time, but she could feel the awful burn scars on her back now like she had received them yesterday. No one knew about these events. No one knows she exists. The Company had erased any trace of her life before she joined them.

Footsteps echo off the damp stone floor. Trying to keep track of time wasn't easy in complete darkness, and she wondered what day it was. They are back now. She felt their presence behind her. Rough rope bound her wrists to a thick metal pole. The rope is their first mistake. Inch by inch, she's managing to loosen it. But it was taking time, these Russians aren't complete armatures.

Her captors are speaking again. She closes her eyes, focusing on their voices. They are getting impatient, she thinks. The one standing to her left is wearing a strong cologne, his voice is coming from higher up than his companion. He's, perhaps, 6'5 and the other is anywhere from 5'10 to 6'3. The one on the right has a rougher voice, but he lowers it on purpose to sound more menacing. Maybe he's a new gang member and he's trying to prove himself. He's the one holding the knife. He grips her shoulder roughly and cuts down her back again. She feels the pain, deep in the recesses of her mind she knows it is there. But she's not thinking about the sting, because something new is happening.

She hears a belt buckle getting loosened and taken off. The sound of pants falling to the ground cuts through the silence like an exclamation point. Oh, she thinks, now they've resorted to raping me. It wouldn't be the first time this particular form of torture has been used on her. She remembers Cuba, the smell of sweat as she was penetrated repeatedly. This won't make her talk. Nothing will make her talk.

They repeat their questions. _How much do you know about us? What have you told The Company? Are there any more of you in Russia?_

The taller one steps in front of her, he yanks her to her feet with his strong hands and laughs in her face. It's a split decision, to head-butt the Russian man, effectively crushing his nose. He spirals backward, more from shock than pain. She hadn't moved since they captured her and he had expected her to just let his rape her. The other curses in Russian and slashes her back again with the edged knife.

Her rope bindings are almost loose enough to slip her hands through, she just needs a bit more time. But the head-butt has left her with one option. They're going to kill her now, she can feel their rage filling the large room. She spins and jumps around, too fast for the shorter Russian to jump back and catches his head between her strong thighs. He screams and thrusts the knife up into her right thigh. It's only a quick twist and flex until she hears the crack signaling that his neck is broken and feels him go slack. The other Russian gang member has recovered and wraps his hands around her neck from behind. With a hard yank, she's got her right hand free and she reaches behind to grab and roughly twist his privates. He screams a curse word in Russian and jumps back, trying to get out of her reach but she won't let go. Free to move around now, with only her left hand in rope still, she turns to quickly punch the large Russian man in the throat and break his trachea.

He falls to the floor now, struggling to break and she knees him in the forehead. He's on his back before he can comprehend what's happening and she has found the knife. Not a second more passes before she has shoved the knife deep into the Russians heart.

The other gang members have heard the screaming, she can hear their rushing footsteps as they make their way to her. She grips the knife. The first three men that rush into the room are easy kills. They were moving too fast in the darkness and she found them quickly. The others were smarted, but she found them all the same. It was much easier when she took two handguns off the first man she killed. Thirty minutes later, she left the ware house covered in blood and made her way to a pay phone.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

London is a dreary, cold place. Small buildings, not many skyscrapers, and a lot of unhappy people walking about on the sidewalk with their umbrellas always at the ready in their hands. She wasn't given any files, only a new name and a new place. The Company move their assets all around the globe, according to their wishes. Always, after spending some time being tortured The Company gives their assets some time to recuperate. The Company never tells you how much time you have. After Afghanistan, she was only given three days to recover before being shipped off to Alaska for another mission.

This time, she's in London. The Company will contact her when they need her, until then she may relax. As expected, she will keep up appearances as a woman named Jane Smith; The Company always gives the most basic names, names that one wouldn't remember. The cab will take her to her new home. Once there, she is to rest but continue perfecting her skills. The Company does not train their assets. You either have what they need, or you do not.

Jane Smith. It's not hard for her to start thinking of herself as this woman named Jane Smith. She has to focus to remember her real name, the one the nuns at the orphanage gave her when they found her alone and cold at five years old. Madalynn or Mary … something that started with an M. Jane shakes the unnecessary thoughts out of her head. It doesn't matter what her name used to be. For now, she will introduce herself as Jane Smith.

The reflection on her window shows a young woman with chopped brown curls and a small mouth. In Baghdad, Jane (she was known as Ann then) had been racing to escape the evil men controlling the sex slave trade there. One of the men had grabbed her by her long hair and she reacted quickly by slicing a knife through her hair and most of his fingers. That was her first mission and since she's kept her hair in a very short cut because it was more practical. In the end, she'd killed the leader of the sex slave trade and the mission was a success.

Jane forces herself to study her reflection. She hadn't seen her own face in months and it was actually clean now, not covered in dirt and grime. Jane wasn't pretty enough to be used by The Company as a spy who gets intimately close to big, bad men to learn their secrets. She was thankful for this though, violence came much easier to her than intimacy.

After contacting The Company, a black van had appeared in front of her thirty seconds later. A woman walking around Moscow covered in blood was bound to bring up questions, she they were quick to get her out of there. The black van took Jane to another ware house. The driver, who wore a ski mask, handed her a key without a word and motioned for her to leave. Inside the ware house, Jane found a shower, a cot with a blanket and pillow, and two suitcases of clothes, medical equipment, and a refrigerator full of food. She stayed in the ware house for three days, scrubbing herself clean, eating her full, and sleeping. The Company expected all of their assets to stitch up their own wounds, and will only step in to help if the asset is in need of a serious surgical procedure. Jane only had the long gashes down her back, it took some maneuvering to reach them all but she was fixed up in no time.

Jane was still looking at her reflection in the window when the door to 221 Baker Street came into view. She had forgotten what she looked like while she slept in the darkness of that Russian Gang ware house. Alabaster skin stretch across the skin of her oval shaped face, contrasting with her brunette hair. Dark, arched brows decorated her forehead. Wide, but not necessarily big, blue eyes stared unwavering and between them sat a nose a bit too wide in the bridge to be symmetrical with her face. A wide mouth below, pale pink lips that blended in with her white skin too much. A neck that was not long enough to be elegant but was strong and sturdy. Shoulders that were too broad for her small frame but she had used those shoulders to tackle down men twice her size and Jane was proud of their strength.

The cab driver tried to muffle a cough with his hand while pulling to the side to let Jane out onto the sidewalk. She opened her door and stepped out immediately. The drive was stepping out too to help her with her bags. She had the same two suitcases The Company had given her in the ware house. The driver carried both of her suitcases to the doorstep, she paid him with the money The Company had given her, and muttered a small thanks.

Jane didn't need to knock, the door was already being opened by a small woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson.

"Come in! Come in, dear! I've been expecting you all morning. How was traffic?" Mrs. Hudson asked but didn't give Jane a chance to reply. "Dreadful, I'm sure!"

"Good morning miss," Jane replied to Mrs. Hudson's enthusiasm by retreating into herself as she often did in social situations.

Mrs. Hudson took one of Jane's suitcases and asked her to follow up the stairs. "You'll be in 221A," she said as they walked. "It's just up here and down the hallway a bit."

221 Baker Street was a cozy building. The poor lighting made it seem dark but Jane didn't mind. As they passed the flat 221B, Mrs. Hudson turned to say quietly, "Your neighbor, Sherlock, lives here. He's an odd one but a good man indeed. He's been in a bit of a mood since his flat mate John moved out to live with his newly wed wife." The land lady seemed to ponder something for a second before shaking her head and saying, "We best not bother him today, and he's been shooting at that damn wall all morning so I already know what kind of mood he's in. You can meet him later, I'm sure, when he's not so upset."

Jane processed this information easily, storing it in the recesses of her mind for later usage. The Company did not usually put their assets in places that involved neighbors.

A gun shot rang out through the air and Jane felt adrenalin push through her veins and her hand reached for the small knife concealed in her jacket. Mrs. Hudson huffed, straightened her shoulders, and turned to look at Jane again. "It's just Sherlock. He's very … peculiar," she said with an apologetic smile.

The gun used was a British Army Browning L9A1… Fired at a wall by a steady hand... Millions of tiny details floated into Jane's brain as she thought about the gun shot.

They'd reached the end of the dark hallway and Mrs. Hudson pulls out the key. Handing it to Jane with a smile she says, "Go make yourself at home, dear. I'm going to give your neighbor a little reminder that not everyone is accustomed to gun shots being heard all through the day and night."

Well, I am, thinks Jane as she forces a smile on her face and closes the door behind Mrs. Hudson.

221A is a moderately sized flat, with wood floors and dark wall paper. The Company has already furnished the flat and Jane makes her way around the leather couch to look out the window. It's started raining again. Dark clouds block out the Sun and Jane pulls the curtains closed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

There's a certain intensity to the air of 221 Baker Street. The gun shots blasting through the air at random times during all hours are constantly giving Jane a rush of adrenalin. She loves it. When the boredom starts to set it and she finds herself counting the cracks in the wall, a beautiful thunderous BANG will echo through the building and, for a moment, she feels alive again.

But after a few days in her new flat, she can anticipate the gun shots. Five or so will ring out in the morning, then a few more before or after lunch time, and then at night Jane's neighbor will settle down to shoot more holes in his wall until Mrs. Hudson begs him to stop; and then he will resume his shooting an hour or so later. Jane doesn't mind, she hasn't slept since arriving in London one week ago. Her mind, her body, her entire being is growing more and more restless as she spends her days in the dusty flat.

The Company furnished the flat for her before she arrived. The bookshelves are full of textbooks on various topics for her to study, but by the end of her first week she's read every book and has an extensive knowledge on things that will probably never come in handy. Either way, The Company likes their assets to be well-educated on everything. With her reading out of the way, Jane tried to focus on her combat training.

A singly poster on the living room of her flat became her target practice. The Company does not give their assets guns when they are on leave, so Jane practiced with her throwing knives. She'd mastered this skill years ago, but what else was she supposed to do in her flat? So, she spent her nights facing the poster from across the room, her knives at the ready. She began by simply throwing them while standing, hitting her mark every time. Unfortunately, it did not take long for Jane to grow bored again. So, she positioned her leather couch and tables around the living room to make an obstacle course.

Jump over the couch, throw a knife, dive under the dining table, throw a knife, barrel role to the left, throw a knife, start getting bored, and keep throwing knives. The obstacle course managed to keep Jane busy for 43 minutes, after running through the course seven times, she was bored again.

After nine days, Jane stopped getting out of bed. The Company had never let her rest for more than five days before and now she did not know what to do with herself. Her hair was starting to grow out, a few brown curls kept falling in her face. Her skin was uncomfortable and she need something, anything to _do_. Feelings that had been kept at bay by her constant state of hurry and violence started to set back in. Jane hadn't felt so … empty since before The Company took her in. She wanted to stop everything. But she couldn't stop, her mind was constantly buzzing with information, facts, memories, and she needed it all to stop.

On her tenth day in 221A Baker Street, Jane spotted a spot of light in her bathroom. Crawling out of bed she saw that it was a razor reflecting the sunlight pouring in through the window. Her fingers mindlessly traced the millions of scars on her arms as a thousand memories of skin being sliced flew through her frenzied brain. She hadn't consciously decided to go outside, but her feet were moving towards the door, running down the stairs, and her hands were shoving their way past Mrs. Hudson, who looked worried as usual, and suddenly she was surrounded by fresh air and the sound of traffic.

Her hands shook and she realized that all she wore was a white tank top and baggy sweatpants. Who gives a damn, she thought to herself and shoved her hands deep into her pockets as she started walking down the sidewalk. There were a lot of people around and, without thinking, Jane found herself snaking her hands into stranger's pockets and pulling out whatever was inside. It wasn't until her hand felt something that was not a wallet that she looked down to see what she'd scored: a carton of cigarettes.

Jane could smell the rain and feel the change in air pressure so she turned and headed back to Baker Street before the storm could catch her without an umbrella. She walked slowly up the stairs, her right hand sliding along the smooth railing when she heard raised voices coming from 221B. Jane wasn't interested in her neighbor's problems so she hurried back to her flat and tried very hard not to listen. She'd almost reached her door before a man's voice stopped her.

"Excuse me, miss?" Jane reluctantly turned to see a short, blond haired man. He looked like he hadn't slept in three years. He stood tall and straight, like a soldier.

No, no, no, this isn't my neighbor, thought Jane, he's not tall enough to match the height of the gun shots. She only answered him with a stare.

"My names Dr. John Watson. I used to live here with Sherlock," he held out his hand and Jane forced herself to shake his hand. Afterwards, she shoved her hand back into her pocket and continued to stare at him. Why was he telling her this? What use is this information to her? "Anyways, I wanted to introduce you to him and apologize if his behavior has been bothering you."

"His behavior isn't bothering me," Jane muttered quietly. Talking to people isn't exactly her strong suit. Before John could reply she rushed into her flat, closing the door behind her and trying very hard no to slam it. She found herself breathing heavily and ran to the nearest window. She yanked the screen up and inhaled the humid outside air. It was still raining, but the cold wetness on her face helped level her head. Jane truly hated talking to people.

She pulled out the cigarettes with shaking hands and dug out a lighter from a kitchen drawer. Jane hadn't smoked since before she joined The Company, but she also hasn't felt the need to smoke since then either. She sank to the floor next to her open window, it had stopped raining, and sucked on her cigarette. She barely got two drags before there was a knock on her door. She ignored it the first time but the second knocking was much louder and more hurried. Jane found she didn't have the energy to get up.

"Who is it?" She tried to yell but her voice came out no louder than a murmur.

Whoever was at the door heard her anyways and said back, "Your neighbor, Sherlock. We haven't met yet. May I come in?" The man's voice was no louder than Jane's had been. There was a note of reluctance in his voice and she wondered if that man, John, from before had put him up to this.

Jane didn't answer him. She didn't do anything. She just breathed in the toxic smoke and, for the first time in ages, managed to not think. After a short while, she heard a loud sigh come from the other side of the door. She'd forgotten he was out there. Jane hoped he would just go away but instead Sherlock decided to open the door himself and walk in. Immediately, Jane felt adrenalin rushing through her veins. She really hated neighbors.

Instinctively, she barrel rolled across the floor to her coffee table where her throwing knives were. Before Sherlock had closed the door behind him, she had her knives at the ready and aimed at his abnormally pale throat. She hadn't consciously decided Sherlock was a threat, but her body had and before she could stop herself a knife was flying through the air. Sherlock was quick though and managed to side step her knife. He still got cut on the side of his neck and blood trickled out, contrasting with the white of his flesh and the black of his button-up shirt.

"Please, don't do that again," he said. His hand came up to touch the cut on his neck and Jane motioned the drawer in the table next to him for Band-Aids. Sherlock wasn't fazed by the knives in her hand nor the knife jammed deeply into the wood of her door that had almost killed him. He wouldn't have minded too much if the knife had found its home in his throat, it was pure instincts that made him dodge it. Plus, he really wanted a cigarette.

He stuck a Band-Aid on his cut and raised his hands in a sign of surrender. Jane lowered her hands, but didn't drop her knives. Her hands clutched the weapons like they would give her the answers to life. She observed her tall neighbor for a second longer before remembering her cigarette, which was still burning on her wood floors after she had dropped it out of her mouth when Sherlock walked in. Walking slowly back to her spot next to the open window, she picked up her cigarette and took another long drag. Jane knew she should probably be upset that this stranger had walked into her flat but, again, she was too tired to give a damn. She lowered herself to the floor, put her knives down next to her, and closed her eyes as she exhaled another puff of smoke. Finally, her mind was quiet and she wasn't going to let some neighbor ruin this small moment of peace.

Feeling his presence, she opened her eyes to see him staring at her. He didn't avert his gaze as their eyes locked and Jane had trained herself to always look someone in the eye. His eyes held a calculative shine in them and Jane couldn't decide what color they were. After a moment, she decided it didn't matter what color his eyes were as long as they stayed over there on the other side of the room.

"May I have one," asked Sherlock, his eyes moving to the burning cigarette between her lips. His voice was very deep, she noticed, and decided it was not an entirely unpleasant sound.

Jane just stared at him while she pulled another cigarette from the carton. She wasn't one for sharing, but decided if one cigarette will make him leave than it was worth it. She hadn't thought of how he was going to get the cigarette and felt her muscles tighten as he started walking toward her. He sunk down to the floor by her, on the other side of the open window, and he reached over to take the cigarette and lighter.

Jane's stomach was tightening as his presence. It was not a good feeling and she did not want company. She ignored her unease and looked at him again from her peripherals. Ah, yes, she though, I was right about the height of the gun shots versus the height of the shooter. Sherlock was over 6'2, a whole foot and an inch taller than Jane. Sherlock exhaled loudly after his first drag, his eyes closed.

From the moment Jane had heard his voice, her mind had slowly start buzzing again, taking in everything about him and storing it. She didn't want to think about Sherlock, though. She didn't want to think about anything. Shoving her observations to the back of her mind, she flicked the ash off her cigarette outside the window and Sherlock did the same.

She could tell her was observing her too, forming deductions in his mind about his quiet neighbor in 221A. Jane silently begged that he would be quiet if he was going to stay there with her. She decided the best way to keep him quiet would be to keep him smoking, so she put the carton between them and let herself another one. Sherlock finished his first cigarette soon after her and reached for another after seeing that she'd put the carton between them.

Half way through her second cigarette, Sherlock spoke. Jane stifled a groan at the interruption of her peace. "You don't mind the shooting." He wasn't asking a question, just stating an observation. Jane didn't know how to respond, she rarely does, really.

She gave a single nod and hoped he wouldn't take that nod as a sign to keep talking. They fell back into silence and Jane was grateful.


End file.
